


Chimera

by Jade_Dragoness



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Brainwashing, But it should end happy, Community: longfic_bingo, First Time, Gen, Human Experimentation, I'm Not Kidding About the Torment, It may take a while to Clint/Coulson, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant Afterwards, Post-Avengers 2012, Prompt Fill, Slow Build, This Fic is completely Self-Indulgent, Torture, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Dragoness/pseuds/Jade_Dragoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HYDRA gets ahold of Phil Coulson at his most vulnerable. When he doesn't remember who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, as the tags pointed out. This fic is totally a self-indulgent guilty pleasure of mine.

**Undisclosed Location, USA  
SHIELD Research Base 07**

“What’s your guess on what the package is today?” Corporal Hobbs asked, grinning at his partner. 

Corporal Vega rolled her eyes before training them back on the flat grounds free of shrubbery which rolled out before them. The lack of vegetation would‘ve been relaxing if there weren’t huge boulders in her line of sight. “No guessing. Remember what happened last time?” She adjusted the night vision goggles on her head trying to find a more comfortable fit. It didn’t help.

Hobbs shrugged. “So I guessed right and got us stuck in a holding cell for a week.”

Vega glared at him. “Stuck in a cell with you _and_ questioned on how the hell we knew. It took the whole week to convince the C.I.A. you were just guessing. _And_ an idiot.” 

Hobbs snickered. 

“No more guessing. We just protect the package and keep our mouths shut.”

They were both quiet as the sergeant looked in their direction. As soon as he looked away, Hobbs whispered, “No, really. What do you think it could be? I think its one of those aliens that attacked New York City a few months ago.”

About to tell him to shut up, Vega instead closed her mouth. Intrigued by the possibility of a real life alien. She‘d been in California when the shit when down in New York. She‘d never been more furious in her life that she couldn‘t be there. “Huh. Really? What makes you say that?”

Hobb’s shit-eating-grin got even bigger. “I overheard one of the doctors mentioning a package from New York City. What else could bring about this level of security?”

“The Cheese is inbound in one minute!” Lieutenant Sharpe said into their headsets.Vega and Hobbs stiffened and settled back to paying attention to their surroundings.

Hobbs’ head went up as he heard the blades of a Black Hawk helicopter seconds before it flew over the ridge on the east side of the compound. 

Vega hunched down low, and kept scanning her surroundings, her rifle a reassuring weight in her hands. The helicopter landed behind them. As soon as the blades slowed down, a pair of scientists in white lab coats jogged out across the tarmac. Hobbs craned his head to look behind him.

“Eyes up front, Hobbs!”’ Vega hissed. 

“Oh, come on. We’re in the US in the middle of nowhere. If the Cheese is an alien I want to see--”

The bullet which caught the side of his neck sent a hot spray of blood across Vega’s face. She froze until the whine of yet another bullet passing by her face snapped her out of it. 

“Incoming hostiles!” Vega screamed and shot back in the direction of the shot. Another bullet whined past her head. She flattened herself behind the barrier of sandbags and concrete blocks.

Behind her a scientist in his glaring white lab coat dropped with a wet thump to the ground. Her sergeant cursed and went down as a bullet caught him in the thigh. The lieutenant barked rapid fire orders over the radio to the rest the unit. Vega listened and at the order to provide cover fire, sat up and began shooting again. 

She couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t anything there. Even the night vision didn’t show anything. Only weirdly blurry spots. But those weren’t big enough for--

The blade which sliced through her body armor and into her chest was so sharp she only felt a sting, like a needle. But she coughed up blood and slowly dropped to her knees. Above her a shimmer in the air revealed itself to be a man clad in full body black and purple armor, even his face was hidden by a faceplate. He swung up a long straight sword slicked red with --she realized with fury-- her blood. She tried to make herself move, to shoot him at least once, but her body refused to move. 

“Hail HYDRA,” the man whispered above her.

She died wishing she’d known what the Cheese was after all and regretting she hadn‘t taken down the bastard who’d stabbed her.

*-*-*-*

**Helicarrier, SHIELD Headquarters  
Over Boston Harbor airspace**

“Director Fury,” Hill said with a composed expression as she turned to face SHIELD director. “We‘re receiving an urgent call from Research Base 07. They’re under attack by HYDRA.”

“Sent them reinforcements,” Fury said at once, as he looked down at her, his mouth a hard flat line. 

“Already done, sir,” Hill replied crisply.

“Good. Send the base into lockdown. I don‘t want anyone getting in!”

Hill nodded sharply and began to issue orders. Around them the agents manning the computer screens of the helicarrier began urgently talking into their headsets, or typing at an increased speed.

“Lee!” Fury pointed at the young agent who straightened at once. “Get me a GPS lock on the package. I want to know where it is!”

“Yes, sir!” 

Hill swung back to Fury, staying in his line of sight. “Sir, I have confirmation the base is in lockdown. No HYDRA soldier has breached the barriers.”

“Well, that‘s something,” Fury growled. 

“Um, sir,” Agent Lee broke in. “I can‘t establish a GPS lock on the package. I think the GPS chip has been shut off or destroyed.”

Fury’s expression remained a scowl. “And the condition of the package?”

Agent Lee’s fingers flew over his computer terminal. “Unknown, sir. HYDRA has disabled the on base cameras and satellite surveillance shows fires and what looks like an intact helicopter on the ground.”

“Hill!”

“Agents will be arriving at the base in fifteen minutes,” Hill said promptly. Her expression was cool. The only sign of her worry was in the slight furrow between her brows. 

Fury scowled at the screens before him, he turned his head to follow the slew of sit-reps as the agents inside the base reported in. Fifteen minutes later, he looked at Hill. All the agents not actively following data streams or issuing commands turned to look at them.

Hill’s mouth was a tense line as she looked back at Fury. “The helicopter is damaged with multiple bullet holes but the package is gone, sir. There were no survivors outside the lockdowned base.”

Fury‘s eye narrowed to a dangerous slit that made more than one SHIELD agent tense in anticipation. “Get me, Agents Barton and Romanov. Now!


	2. In the Hands of HYDRA

**Unknown Location: HYDRA Base  
Day 01**

He woke up screaming to the feeling of fire rolling through his veins. His nerves were burning and his brain was boiling. His chest was going to burst.

“ARGH!” Another electrical jolt hit him, his entire body jerked against the restraints on his arms, legs, wrists and ankles. He screamed again. “ARGH!” 

The pain faded away leaving him panting for breath. His eyes felt wide in his face as he looked around desperately. Several men in white lab coats stood near him. The closest of them, a small man in hornrimmed eyeglasses, was smiling with evident delight.

“Congratulations, Doctor,” said another man, this one was wearing black and purple body armor, his face hidden by a faceplate. A sword hung from a sheathe at his hip. “It seems your chemical cocktail to wake up your little science experiment worked.”

‘Dangerous,’ he thought to himself, although he didn’t know why. 

The man wearing the eyeglasses -- the Doctor-- chuckled. “Pulling a man out of a coma is hardly a challenge, Baron.” The Doctor turned and the back of the lab coat showed a design of a skull on top of six tentacles in a circle.

‘I can‘t _trust_ them,’ he thought. A frisson of fear sizzled down his back. He pulled at his restraints, driven by the urge to get free. He had to get out here. He had to leave before--

The Doctor smiled cruelly down at him. “Who are you?”

He opened his mouth and found no answer on his tongue. He closed his mouth and looked around, half-expecting someone else to have the answer. 

The Doctor frowned. The Baron turned, his purple faceplate was menacing under the harsh fluorescent lights. He had no visible eyes only narrow dark slits cut into the metal.

“Name and rank!” the Baron ordered sharply. 

He tried to find the answer in his sore head. It was right on the tip of his tongue. But--but--

“I don‘t know,” he admitted softly. Panic crawled up his gut and into his throat as the full horror sunk in. He didn’t know his name. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t remember… anything. His entire mind was dark and empty.

“What a pity,” Doctor said, sighing heavily. Baron unsheathed the sword at his hip. 

“Do you want me to take care of this, Doctor?”

“That won‘t be necessary, Baron. I had hoped to find out who he was to get a better idea of how ended up with the energy of the Tesseract in his body but I don‘t actually need to know his name to run my tests and experiments.” Doctor said amused.. He smiled, teeth glinting hungrily under the harsh white lights. “It‘s merely a pity I don’t have a better name. The code name Cheese is hardly the most dignified of monikers.” 

The Baron sheathed his sword as the Doctor nodded at the other men in white coats standing behind him. 

“Let‘s begin with phase one: extraction.”

He watched with wide eyes as a large double pronged metal arm swung towards him. It slowly lowered down until the tines touched his bare chest.

White fire burst through his body again.

“ARGH!” He screamed and screamed and screamed.  
*-*-*-*  
 **Day 04**

First time he woke up outside of the lab it was to a pitch black room while he was naked and flat on his back on the floor. He hurt. His muscles were randomly twitching with pain. His joints felt sore. Even his eyes felt gritty and it felt like entire patches of skin were raw. His chest felt like the fire which had first woken him up had settled there, slowly immolating him from the inside out. 

There was no light.

He curled up tight, crossing his arms around his chest to hold back the fire. It took a long time for the agony to subside but it eventually turned to pressure instead of pain, like something heavy pressed down on his chest. When the pain subsided the aches and pains of the rest of his body also faded away until nothing hurt anymore. 

Puzzled he carefully got to his feet and tested his arms and legs. No pain. No aches. Just that weird pressure on his chest, which he noted was slightly off-center on his body. He rubbed his chest, feeling hairs under his fingers and palms. The bumps of his nipples sent a spark of sensation through his body which made him flinch expecting the return of the pain. But nothing happened. More cautious, he felt along his chest and found a line of thick raised skin along his left side. It made him shiver from its sensitivity but it didn‘t spark off anything else. 

_New scar. Barely three months old. Took a blade to the chest,_ he thought to himself, and wondered how he knew. But no other information came flying from the blankness of his mind. He found other scars, older ones but none of their origins came to his awareness. 

Once he was done exploring his body he turned his attention to his surroundings. He slowly mapped the pitch black room with touch, moving carefully and half-expecting to hit something else which would hurt him again only to find rough cool walls. He mentally pictured the dimensions. He was in a room as wide as his entire arms length as he could barely feel each wall with his fingertips. It was only a couple feet longer than he was tall because when he lay down stretched out on his back he could feel one end with his toes and the other wall scraped his palms. He couldn’t reach the ceiling. His toes stumbled into a small drain at one corner he suspected was a toilet. He found a door but it was solid and felt like metal, although he didn’t know what type. When he pressed his right ear to the door he could feel a faint vibration against his skin. 

He didn’t bang on the door. Those on the other side where dangerous. 

Instead he sat back down on the empty floor and tried to think. Who was he? The answer was still on the tip of his tongue. 

“I am-- I am--” he whispered, trying to figure it out. It was important. As important as needing to get away from this place. As important as not talking to the men with the skull and tentacles symbols on their chests.

“I am--” he tried again. “I am---”

But it didn’t come to him.

*-*-*-*

**Day 05**

Two black armor clad men with the symbols of a skull on six curled tentacles opened the door. The white light of the hallway made him flinch but also get to his feet. 

“Come along.”

He stared at them silently and didn’t move.

One of the guards huffed with annoyance and lifted something made of black plastic towards him. He stepped back raising his arms only to get a hit with electricity. He cried out and fell back against the wall, scraping his back. His entire body tensed as his muscles locked tight from the electricity flowing from the prongs embedded in his right arm. The fire in his chest, the immolating dragon, woke up and roared. The buzz of the electricity stopped. His muscles twitched with pain. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

“Great, why’d you do that for? Now we have drag him all the way to the lab.” 

“Oh, shut up.” The one who‘d hit him with electricity, leaned over him. “Next time, lab rat? Don‘t fight us. Or we could really make your stay miserable.” The man grabbed his right ankle while the other guard grabbed his left. They dragged him out, uncaring at how his bare skin was scrapped by the unpainted concrete floor. 

He stayed limp as his muscle twitches slowly died down and the fire in his chest slowly cooled off. 

He wasn’t a lab rat, of this he was certain; he was something else.

*-*-*-*

“Well you certainly have lived an interesting life, my specimen,” the Doctor said, as he looked down at him. He was back to being strapped into the metal lab table where he‘d first woken up. The Doctor’s muddy hazel eyes were amused behind his eyeglasses. “According to the readings we‘ve finally managed to get from you, you’ve been near the Tesseract for several days, you’ve been stabbed with metal unlike anything on Earth, you‘ve been within a foot of a blast of surprisingly dense energy, and you‘ve been close enough to a Stark arc reactor to get miniscule residue left in your cells. And that‘s not even taking into the account the energy in your chest: a mix of Tesseract, gamma radiation and something unknown. Truly a most interesting life.”

The huffed soft laugh made him close his eyes to keep from seeing the Doctor‘s amusement. The laugh was never a good sign. The laugh always meant more pain. For several minutes all he heard was the foot steps of the Doctor and his scientists.

“Fascinating. It turns out the little boost I gave you to wake you from your sleep hasn‘t left your systems like it should have,” the Doctor continued. 

He opened his eyes to look up wondering what the Doctor meant. The Doctor tapped a tablet in his hands he must have only just picked up. 

“I gave you a serum derived from a mutant known as Weapon X. That was truly unique genetic specimen with a healing factor which is truly off the scale. I always thought it was highly incompetent of the program to lose track of him. I gave you but a weak version derived from the study of the mutation. It should have lasted in your bloodstream for three days, just enough to heal the lingering damage to your brain. But according the these tests? The serum has bonded to your DNA, giving you the ability to heal at an accelerated rate. Very interesting.”

He blinked at the Doctor. 

“Oh, you‘re nowhere near the ability of Weapon X, although you do seem to heal faster than even the famous Captain America,” continued the Doctor. 

Something sparkled in his mind at the mention of ‘Captain America’ but it faded when he reached for it. 

“Such an _interesting_ specimen. I must find out how you were able to incorporate the Weapon X mutation into your DNA. If I could replicate the results then… HYDRA would have an army of enhanced soldiers. But first--” The Doctor reached for a table with a tray full of surgical implements. He lifted up a scalpel. “Let‘s test the extent of your healing factor. After all science requires more exacting data.”

He didn’t start screaming until the Doctor cut a deep furrow right over the scar on his chest. It was the twenty-third cut the Doctor made. He lost track of the ones which followed.

*-*-*-*

**Day 06**

He hadn’t been returned to his dark little room. Instead, the Doctor kept him tied to the table while the other nameless scientists had taken observations of all his injuries. It took a few hours but eventually all the cuts sealed, until only slim pink lines on his skin showed where the wounds had been and leaving the rest of him incredibly thirsty and hungry.

He wondered dully if they too would fade in time. Or would they remain forever? He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Good morning, my interesting specimen! Over the night I’ve been pondering a theory,” the Doctor said cheerfully as he walked into the lab. He didn’t seem to care about the copper-tang of blood was strong in the air. “I could not help but wonder if the energy in your chest is to blame for the DNA bonding. It made me think that you could develop other interesting tricks. What other talents can you graft to your DNA?” The Doctor gestured at the men in lab coats waiting patiently behind him. “Let‘s see if we can replicate the results, yes?” His smile widened. The one of the men in lab coats handed the Doctor a syringe. It was full of green liquid. The long needle gleamed silver under the white lab lights. 

He watched quietly as the Doctor injected the liquid into his arm. He was too tired from the last session to do more than blink at the sting of the needle. The coolness of the liquid as it spread along his veins made him shiver against the restraints.

“Over the years, HYDRA has managed to get a hold of some interesting genetic samples, let’s see if you can incorporate this one too,” the Doctor continued. “It comes from a man with the odd talent of photographic reflexes. Extraordinary. And he isn‘t even a mutant, at least not one which carries the X-gene. Although, I have my theories about other genetic mutations developing in the human population. But that‘s for another time.” The Doctor gestured again at the scientists waiting for his instructions. “Begin.”

His eyes widened then clamped shut as electricity flowed through his restraints. The same jolts which had woken him up. 

“ARGH!”

*-*-*-*

**Helicarrier, SHIELD Headquarters  
On the waters of Lake Erie**

Clint walked in behind Natasha keeping a cool eye on the SHIELD agents near them. Two agents tensed at the sight him but most of them didn’t react other than to give him a quick glance before going back to work. An improvement over a month ago. Or it could just be that they were hiding their suspicions better. 

As if reading his mind Natasha tossed him an annoyed look over her shoulder. He shot her a tight smile. She raised her eyebrow but didn’t say anything. 

Fury was waiting for them in his office. His expression was closed off but his eye was hard as he looked up when they came in. 

“We lost the HYDRA agents trail once they cross the Nevada state line,” Natasha said, as soon as the door closed behind them. Fury’s eye narrowed. “They dumped their vehicles and torched them. Then they took to the air.”

“Wherever HYDRA went, they stayed off the radar,” Clint added. “Or they have the sort of tech which makes them invisible to the US government.”

Fury snorted. “Not exactly difficult for HYDRA.”

“From the injuries on the bodies, I‘d say we‘re dealing with Baron Zemo,” Clint said. “I saw sword wounds all over, and he‘s the only HYDRA goon I know who carries a sword into a gunfight. And he’s top tier HYDRA so for him to take to the field--” he whistled. “Whatever this package is? HYDRA wanted it bad.”

“I‘m going to be sending you both back to track down Baron Zemo,” Fury said curtly. “I want the package recovered.”

“Understood, sir,” Natasha said coolly.

“It would help, sir, if we know what they took,” Clint pointed out. “Or at the very least it could help us know what to get back when we finally find them.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Fury. Which for her, Clint knew, was the equivalent of shouting to the heavens demanding an answer. And Fury knew it too.

Fury eyed them both for a moment before he reached into his desk and pulled out two dark blue folders, embossed with SHIELD‘s emblem. He handed one to each of them. “These are for your eyes only. Read them now because they sure as hell won‘t leave this office.”

Natasha and Clint opened their folders. At once they exchanged surprised glances. As they read along Clint’s eyes widened and Natasha’s narrowed.

“Coulson‘s alive,” Clint whispered, stunned. His fingers tightened on the folder, wrinkling the edges. All this time… He kept reading and his heart sank as he realized it wasn’t so easy. The elation which had been rising in him sank down hard. The medical report alone made him feel sick. “Jesus, he‘s in a coma?”

“Yes, Barton,” Fury sighed. There was a lot of exhaustion in that simple expression. A sign of vulnerability that made Clint feel sorry for him, even through his annoyance of having been kept in the dark about Coulson.

Natasha’s mouth flatted to a hard line as she stared down at the file in her hands before  
snapping the folder closed. “And HYDRA has him.” She tossed the file back onto Fury’s desk.

She looked at Clint briefly, the darkness gathering in her green eyes telling him everything. Coulson, a vulnerable unconscious person they both knew and, although neither of them would admit it aloud, he was also someone they both trusted, completely. And he was in the hands of the enemy.

Clint’s own eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, as he began planning his ammunition for the hunt. He told his partner, “Then… let‘s get him back. And if anyone tires to stop us, well, we’ll just have to bring hell to HYDRA.”

“Hell to HYDRA,” she agreed, mimicking HYDRA‘s double arm salute. 

Clint grinned. First time he‘d done that she‘d called him childish. Now she was doing it too, it said a lot of how much Tasha had relaxed in these last couple of years.

Coulson had laughed at him, Clint remembered wistfully. A full out belly laugh which had surprised both Clint and Natasha. It had been the first time Clint had managed to get a reaction other than coolly calm or coolly amused expression from his mission leader.

“Keep me updated,” Fury said. 

Clint tossed his own file onto the desk. Both he and Natasha nodded at Fury and left his office silently. Once out of Fury’s sight, Clint and Natasha exchanged a quick silent glance before they parting ways. They would discuss Coulson being alive later. First they needed rest. Then in six hours, they were back on the search. The mission had gone from retrieval to rescue operation. They needed to be at their sharpest.

Clint kept a straight face all the way to his bunk. As soon as the door closed he efficiently stripped out of his body armor until he was naked before sprawling face first into his bunk. A friend he’d thought dead was _alive_. A friend whose death he’d been quietly blaming himself --who’d he’d mourned with an ache which still lingered after all these months-- wasn‘t actually dead… which meant his blood was off his hands. 

He grinned widely, his face hidden by the pillow for several minutes before Clint flipped himself onto his back, wiggled under the blankets and forced himself to sleep.

*-*-*-*  
 **Unknown Location: HYDRA Base  
Day 07**

He woke up in his little dark room again only this time he was relieved to feel no pain.

The Doctor, determined to replicate his first day awake had followed the massive jolts of electricity with another extraction session until he’d fallen unconscious. He was glad. It had cut the session short. The first time he’d fought the pain and it had lasted for an eternity.

This time he’d embraced it, hoping it would kill him, but he’d only fallen unconscious. 

He sat up and pressed his back against one of the cool rough walls. He tried to think. He knew he needed to escape. The urge beat along with the rhythm of his heart. He needed to leave. Only… where would he go? He didn’t know anyone. He didn’t know anything. The only people he knew were the Doctor, the Baron, the scientists and the guards who‘d dragged him to the lab. None of them could be trusted. Would it be any better outside? Would he be able to find anyone to trust? Someone who wouldn’t hurt him?

He didn’t know. He didn’t even know who he was. Other than he’d been codenamed Cheese, And a codename didn’t mean it was his real name. He suspected it wouldn’t get him far. He didn’t even get a flicker of recognition from it.

“I am…” he whispered into his knees. “I am…” 

The hint at the tip his tongue became a syllable. “I am co-”

Co-something. He clamped his eyes tight even with the darkness behind his eyes remained the same as if he’d kept them open. “I am co-” He reached for that glimmer in his mind. This was important!

“I am…compromised.”

He grinned up into the empty air wanting to laugh at figuring it out at last. Until he repeated the words and he knew they didn’t mean identity or salvation and his delight drained away leaving him cold.

Compromised. 

That meant the opposite of salvation, didn’t it? He was compromised. He dropped his head back to his knees. Another word came to him and he whispered it to his bare knees, so low even he could barely hear it in his quiet dark room. “Help. I need help.”

But he was compromised. 

No one would come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Nevada, USA  
5 miles East of Las Vegas**

Clint waved goodbye to the SHIELD pilot which had dropped them off before turning to Natasha. He slipped on his custom fitted sunglasses as the hot sun blazed overhead. The small quinjet flew away with a loud roar and quickly streaking off in the blue distance, its long vapor trail quickly dispelling under the blazing afternoon sun.

The jet had landed in the middle of the desert, so no one should’ve seen them arrive. There was nothing around them but rocks, sand, dried shrub and more rocks. The only object which stood out was the large black off-road SUV (without SHIELD decals, thankfully). Natasha was stowing her gear into the car, having checked it for explosives, listening devices or other nasty surprises. Because while the car had been left waiting for them by one of the agents posted to the Las Vegas SHIELD office, Natasha was never one to trust blindly. 

Clint always thought it was a sweet gig to get assigned the Las Vegas office, spending your time watching the casino floors for enemy agents, tracking the trading of secrets, and other SHIELD related tasks all while keeping cool indoors and maybe catching a show on the off-duty hours.   
He stowed his gear away and hopped into the passenger side door. Natasha started the engine and drove off. 

“Maybe, I‘ll put in a request to move to Las Vegas,” Clint mused aloud. 

Natasha didn’t look at him as she said, “Still thinking about leaving the New York office?”

“Those agents weren‘t there,” Clint said. He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Natasha was fully aware how he felt. Even after all three months and more psychological evaluations than a man could take without going crazy –something he found both hilariously ironic and depressing as hell– and he still thought it would be a good idea to leave SHIELD's main office in New York for another posting. 

Hell, his tour with SHIELD had been the longest running in his life, excluding a certain circus, at six years. The only reason he hadn’t followed through on his half-joking threats for reassignment was because he didn’t want to leave Natasha without a partner she could trust. It was him, Coulson, Hill or Fury and Fury was too busy being the Director, Hill was the Deputy Director and her time was almost as valuable, and Coulson had been dead, leaving him the only one to be there for her. But it turned out Coulson wasn’t dead after all. Okay, so according to the medical files he wasn’t in the best shape but it was better than dead. He was ignoring the doctors' notes on the unlikelihood of Coulson ever waking from his coma.

“You in Las Vegas?” Natasha snorted in disbelief. It was surprisingly loud noise for such a cute small nose. “Las Vegas calls more for my skill set than yours.”

Clint wrinkled up his nose at this dissing of his skills. “I could do the super-secret sneaky sexy spy stuff too, you know.”

“Not with that kind of alliteration,” Natasha said tartly.

“Ouch,” Clint said, clutching at his heart. He let several minutes go by, as he scanned the road ahead, behind and to the sides for any surprises. None showed. “So… we‘re not going to talk about it? About Coulson?”

The corners of Natasha’s mouth tightened. “What is there to discuss?” she asked calmly.

“How about the fact that he‘s alive?! That Fury didn‘t tell us! Us!” Clint waved his hands all around to encompass the entire situation. For months Fury had let them think Coulson was dead. “I can understand why he didn’t tell the rest of the Avengers. But us?”

“Why would he? Coulson is in a coma,” Natasha said. “The doctors who examined him even noted in his medical file the unlikelihood of him ever waking up again”

“But the possibility exists that he could wake up,” Clint insisted, but he slumped against the door of the SUV. “Any hope is better than nothing.”

“Hope is a poison,” Natasha said coolly.

“You're such a liar,” Clint sighed. “If you really believed that you wouldn‘t be with me, risking your life to find him.” Hell, if Tasha really believed that she wouldn’t ever have joined SHIELD. For several more minutes all Clint heard was the shush of the tires rolling over the desert and the SUV. Again he gave the surrounding another sweep for danger. Nothing.

“I like poisons,” Natasha admitted so quietly that it her voice was barely audible over the SUV‘s rumbling engine.

Clint grinned at her, weirdly proud at how Natasha was at a point in her life where she could admit that, and earned himself a derisive sniff.

*-*-*-*  
 **Unknown Location: HYDRA Base  
Day 07, continued**

Several hours later, one of the guards opened the door to leave a bowl on the floor before closing it again. The smell that it gave off was oddly appetizing but unfamiliar. This was the first time they were feeding him outside of the bags of clear fluids which went into his arm. He carefully walked to the bowl, the memory of where it was placed blazed in his mind until he stopped just before he could kick it over. He crouched low and picked it up with both hands. He brought it to his mouth and tasted the contents. Cream and something bland with a hint of salt. He considered briefly not eating it before his stomach rumbled loud enough to startle him. It made him think of the dragon in his chest. 

“Better feed the beast,” he said softly, and felt a flicker of amusement at his own words.

Was he the sort of man with a sense of humor? Was it weird to hope he was?

He swallowed down his unrecognized meal carefully and as slowly as he could. Information about the dangers of eating too quickly flickered in his mind. Helpful but nothing which led to him getting out. He finished the bowl after several minutes, even going so far as to lick it clean. He contemplated breaking the bowl for a weapon but twisting it just led to the material yielding and stretching under his hands before it sprung back into shape when he let it go. It couldn’t be broken and it was too lightweight to make into a projectile. Defeated, he left the bowl on the floor before the door and went to sit in a corner where he could lean against the walls.

He felt weird and different in a way that had nothing to do with being in or out of pain. It took him a moment to pinpoint the sensation to this stomach. The full feeling in his stomach felt odd, until he realized that he didn’t have any memory of ever eating before and the feeling which followed. Of course, it felt strange, what did he have to compare it to? 

He had nothing. Other than the occasional random fact, his entire memory was blank.

*-*-*-*

This time when the guards came for him they also gave him a set of pants and a shirt but no shoes or underwear.

‘Leaving me to go commando,’ he thought to himself and felt that flicker of amusement at the thought. There was a joke in there he didn’t understand, at least not consciously.

He didn’t put up any resistance this time either. Partly out of curiosity over what they would do with him if he cooperated and partly out of the desire not to ruin his new clothes, even if the shirt had the same skull and tentacles symbol which made him so uneasy. Encouraging his captors to treat him well whenever possible felt like a good idea.

He also wanted to be upright when traveling through the halls. The mental picture in his head was mostly of the ceiling, and the lab. Neither had shown him an egress. Wherever he was, the security was tight. He couldn’t see a flaw. At least, he didn’t think he saw any. Would he know? Would his blank mind point out a method of escape when he saw it? He hoped it would but until it did all he could do was stay as healthy as possible. 

He was surprised when the guard didn’t take him to the lab, instead they took him to a large room where the Baron waited for him with three other men. The three men stood inside a large circle painted onto the concrete floor in dark green. He eyed the Baron cautiously but didn’t hesitate to walk into the room. His bare feet picked up a sticky sensation on his feet. He looked down quickly and noted faded but large rusty brown stains all over the concrete floors.

Blood stains. All of various ages and sizes.

He didn’t know how he recognized the stains. It made him wonder at what sort of man he’d been who had such knowledge. It was unnerving thought.

“Doctor Zola has told me about your enhancements,” Baron said coolly as he came closer. “He‘s requested I conduct my own experiment.”

Doctor Zola then came into the large room with his flock of scientists. “Ah, Baron Zemo, I see you’re ready to the test my specimen.”

Baron Zemo inclined his helmeted head. “These men will fight against him. If he defeats them then it’ll be my turn.” 

The guard behind him back prodded him forward until he stood in the inscribed circle. The three men grinned at him, a baring of teeth with no sign of friendliness. Each of them held a weapon in his hands. One had a spear, another a large knife in his hands, and the last carried a thick metal chain with a small scythe on one end and ball weight on the other, a kusarigama.

He wasn’t armed. They had been allowed their shoes. He tried not to feel out-matched. 

Did he even _know_ how to fight?

He considered breaking his self-imposed oath of silence to ask for a weapon but neither the Baron nor the Doctor had ever showed any hesitation in hurting him. He doubted they would suddenly chose to help him. He stood up straight and watched the three fighters as they flexed their arms and eyed him right back. 

“Kill him,” the Baron ordered. 

“Hail HYDRA!” the men shouted in synchrony. 

He was moving before he’d even consciously thought to do so. Plans zipped through his head. Separate them. Take one down and get the weapon. Don’t let them crowd you. Don’t let them use their superior numbers to their advantage. Use it against them.

Don’t go for the weakest. They’ll be expecting it.

He ran abruptly at the second biggest man. The one with the kusarigama. He hoped since recognized the weapon that he’d be able to use it. As he ran it felt like his thought processes sped up. The movements of the kusarigama wielder were obvious. He could _see_ what the man was going to do next. Those future movements were translucent ghost images. He didn’t question the knowledge. 

The weighted end of the kusarigama whistled towards him, he was already ducking. It missed him entirely. He turned the crouch into a coiled jump forwards. He hit the man’s chest, flattening him on the concrete. The wielder yelled in anger. He grabbed the kusarigama with one hand while smashing down his elbow into the man’s throat. The wet crunch of cartilage was unexpectedly jarring. But he couldn’t hesitate because the man with the large knife was snarling as he swung the blade down on him. 

He rolled to the side and he heard the slick sound of sharp metal biting down on flesh. A sound he recognized from his own newly formed memories. He had to shake his head to dislodge them and forced himself to focus on the spear wielder. Again he felt a strange sensation and once again he saw the moves the man would make. So he moved ahead of him, stepping quickly just out of reach. He dodged the blows of the spear’s butt or the blade with equal ease, using the chain to catch a weapon or to get the men to tangle up.

It was weirdly fun, like… something involving motion and choreography. The word stayed out of his reach. But whatever the word… it was like that. 

Even when the two men decided to join forces, and stopped getting in each others' way the motions just gained a new layer of complexity but it was still easy enough for him to dodge and weave and avoid the weapons by less than an inch.

As the fight ran on, he noted that the men were sweating and slowing down while he still felt energized. Another side effect of the Doctor's DNA manipulation? Or had he always been this way?

“Enough,” Baron Zemo ordered sharply. 

The men stopped and he backed off. He refused to drop the kusarigama. This was the first time he’d had a weapon in his hands. He wasn’t going to give it up easily. Briefly he considered making his escape, but even as he contemplated the idea, the odd sensation he’d felt before told him the chances of making an escape were too low. They would kill him. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not for nothing. Not when he didn't even know his own name or who he was. So he held his weapon and controlled his impulses.

“Doctor?”

“Hmm,” Doctor Zola hummed. “The test seems rather inconclusive. Although the last DNA test showed the specimen as grafting the new pieces to his DNA sequence it doesn‘t appear as if he‘s developed photographic reflexes.”

“No, I‘ve fought against Taskmaster,” Baron agreed. “Your specimen doesn‘t reflect the skills of his opponents in the same way, but there is something there…”

“Oh?” Zola said with interest. “I‘m not a fighter. What do you see, Baron?”

The Baron unsheathed his sword slowly with a metallic hiss before he stepped into the painted ring. He gestured with his free hand and the corpse which had remained in place was dragged out by the surviving fighters. “I believe your specimen can read and anticipate motions and reflexive actions even if he doesn‘t mimic them.”

“Partial integration of Taskmaster‘s photographic reflexes?” the Doctor asked, he pushed up his eyeglasses. “Truly a fascinating specimen. Like the chimera of legend, incorporating different DNA into yourself. Chimera… yes, a much better code name than Cheese.”

He listened to the Doctor but nearly all of his focus rested on the Baron as he stepped into the ring. 

He barely caught it as the Baron flashed his sword towards him at an incredible speed. He jumped out of reach of the blade purely on reflex but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the following kick. It caught him on the hip and spun him left. He swung the weighted end of the kusarigama where his weird fighting knowledge let him know the Baron would be. But the Baron dodged the blow. 

Zemo moved faster. Faster than he could. Faster than both men he‘d just fought, faster than he could move. Whatever else Zemo was, he was augmented too. 

He kept his eyes on Zemo and used every scrap of speed he had to dodge the furious rain of blows, getting only less than a second of warning between hits. Just enough to avoid a killing stroke, but it wasn’t enough to avoid the sword entirely. He kept getting nicked. Blood slicked the handle of the scythe of the kusarigama causing him to nearly lose his grip on it, twice. He did managed to land a few blows with the weight and once with the blade but Zemo’s body armor shrugged off his attacks like they were nothing. 

His clothes provided no protection. He might as well have remained naked.

The only reason he remained on his feet was because his tolerance for pain was much greater after being in the Dr. Zola's hands. But it wouldn't help him for long, he was panting for breath, dark spots floated across his eyes and an ever increasing thirst parched his throat. He tried to slow his breathing, to control every exhale because this fight felt important to his continual survival. 

He grunted in pain as Zemo's blade sliced deeply into his left shoulder, knocking him onto his knees. He hit out with the scythe blade hoping to get Zemo's knee only to miss.

“Baron Zemo,” Dr. Zola cut in. Zemo paused just out of reach of the kusarigama. “Please, remember I don‘t want Chimera dead. He has a healing factor now, but it isn‘t enough to keep him from bleeding to death.”

He made a mental note of that information. It could be useful in the future. He didn’t react to his new code name, it didn’t have any significance to him no matter how pleased Dr. Zola was with it.

“Very well, Doctor,” Zemo said. He sheathed his sword and signaled for the man holding the spear. He caught the weapon out of the air and reversed the spear so that the blunt end was pointed outwards. “I will simply have to beat your specimen near to death.”

He adjusted his grip on the kusarigama for a more secure hold as he got to his feet and grimly waited for Zemo’s attack. 

It took twenty minutes for Zemo to beat him to near unconsciousness. The only thing which disappointed him was that his lax grip on the kusarigama cost him the weapon when the guards who’d brought him to the fighting ring dragged him back to his cell.

*-*-*-*  
 **Day 10**

He didn’t know how much time he spent in the cell before he was taken back to the lab but he got fed six more times. Six bowls of the same meal as before: cream, salt and something bland which he still hadn’t recovered a name for.

He was too tired to feel much other than relief at the reprieve. He’d come out of the fight with Zemo with several broken bones –he’d heard and felt his ribs, clavicle and left lower arm crack– and they didn’t heal as fast as his skin. He's been so bruised that he hadn't had a patch of unmarked skin larger than his palm. The lingering injuries made him wonder if Doctor Zola would decided to test broken bones next when he decided to get more data on his healing factor. He hoped not, although he suspected that it would occur to the Doctor the minute he stopped distracted by his ability to… how had he put it ‘incorporating different DNA’ into himself. 

“Chimera,” he whispered in the quiet of his cell. That was what Zola had called him. His new code name. He didn’t know if he liked it better than Cheese. He didn’t like being named by a man like the Doctor, it made him prefer being called Cheese. Every single time he tried to reach for the memory of his name, all he got was ‘compromised‘ and no name. 

He waited in the dark, feeling all his wounds heal until the guards came for him again.

They didn’t give him the option to cooperate this time. ‘They know what you can do now’, he thought to himself as he was dragged back to the lab. Even the number of his guards had doubled. ‘They know you could take them on so they’re not going to give you the chance to fight them.’ 

They were also faster in delivering him to the lab to his dismay.

Strapped back into the table, he quietly watched Doctor Zola as the man fussed with a machine near the top of the table, almost right over his head. The extracting arm they’d used to try to pull out the energy in his chest had been moved to the side. There was a wire mesh shaped like a helmet dangling over his head. He couldn’t begin to guess at what it would, but if it stayed true to form then it would ending up hurting… a lot. 

The unnamed scientists who trailed after Zola double-checked the straps which held him down. One of them popped a black mouth-guard into his mouth while another lowered the wire mesh helmet over his head. A wide black leather strap went under his chin and was tightened until his teeth bit into the mouth-guard’s soft material. ‘They don’t want to hear you scream,’ he thought, and felt a frisson of fear. They hadn’t cared about muffling his screams before, why would they care now?

Baron Zemo arrived as Doctor Zola finished adjusting something in the machine. 

“Baron! Excellent, I was just waiting for your arrival to begin,” Zola said, as he pushed up on his eyeglasses. 

“I don‘t see why you need me here, Doctor,” Zemo said coolly. His arms were crosses across his armored chest and even without a visible face, his impatience was blatantly obvious through his body language.

“I thought you would be curious to see what memories I could get from Chimera,” Zola said, patting the machine he’d been fiddling with. “I modified my brain wave extractor to show memories. Since our discussion about his fighting ability, I wanted to see if there was more to my specimen than his chimeran qualities.”

“Hmm,” Zemo hummed noncommittally. He cross his arms. Grudgingly, he said, “Very well. Proceed.”

Zola smiled and signaled one his scientist who was standing before a control panel. The man nodded and his fingers began moving over the touch screen.

He jerked against his restraints as the mesh helmets moved with a disturbing organic smoothness as it settled and tightened around his head. Two needle points pressed against his temples and then sank into his skin. He grunted and tried to squirm away, but the needles sunk in deeper. Pain throbbed at his temples in time to his heartbeat. He grunted again before sinking his teeth deeper into the mouth-guard, a scream rattling in his throat. 

Doctor Zola leaned over him until he stared right into his eyes. “Think about your name, my specimen.”

‘My name? I’m…’ he reached for it. 

Above the machine a dark screen flickered with to life. “His name is Agent,” a male voice said sharply. 

He blinked and strained to look at the screen. A man with a dark hair and a goatee was on the screen, a sulky expression on his face. A beautiful red-head with long bare legs was smiling as she stood next to the man's side. The screen abruptly went black.

‘My name is Agent?’ he wondered and he felt a flicker of recognition. It was enough for him. ‘My name is Agent.’ Something deep inside him relaxed at finally having a name of his own. 

Above him the screen flickered back to life showing a man with dark skin and an eye patch. 

Zemo hissed with barely controlled rage as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. “Fury!’

“Good job, agent,” said the man. “Keep me updated on the situation!” The screen went dark again.

Zola stared at the screen his fingers tapped his mouth. “He answered directly to Director Fury,” he said thoughtfully. 

“He must be a high-level agent in SHIELD,” Zemo said, a growl in his voice.

Agent could feel Zemo staring down at him even through his faceplate. He stared right back and narrowed his eyes. ‘What was SHIELD?’ he wondered. ‘Were they the enemy of HYDRA? Was he in the hands of the enemy?’ It made sense considering his reaction to the skull and tentacles emblem. Also why he felt that impulse to keep quiet and to look for an opportunity to make an escape.

“SHIELD is responsible for finding Captain America,” Zemo growled. 

Again the name Captain America sparked something in Agent’s mind. And the dark screen flash bright and showed a blond man, covered in ice, resting on medical table. The ice was slowly melting away, revealing dark blue leather with red and white accents. 

“Captain America!” Zemo cried out. He turned from watching the screen and looked down at Agent. He pulled out his sword and pressed the tip under Agent’s chin. “Where is Captain America? Tell me!”

‘Tell them nothing,’ Agent thought. ‘They’re the enemy, it’s better to forget. Don’t give them anything.’ The skin under his chin stung and blood dripped onto his chest. He stopped reaching for an answer – for anything – from the blankness of his mind.

Zola was silent as Zemo questioned him. Trying to get him to reveal more information, but the screen showed only short flashes of scenes. Various people in dark suits with serious but respectful expressions. A tall dark haired man wearing green and a mad smile. A bearded blond man in silver armor and a flowing scarlet cape flying up into a the air with a pretty woman in one hand while the other held a hammer. Another brief glimpse of Fury. Then of the goateed man in red and gold armor. The last image the machine was the back of a blond man with a quiver on his back and bow in his hands, at his side a red-headed woman in tight black clothing. Neither of their faces were visible in the screen as they walked down a long brightly lit hallway. 

They were the last ones to come up on the screen. And no matter how many questions Zemo asked or how much he cut him up, the screen remained stubbornly blank. 

“Useless!” Zemo snarled and raised his sword to plunge it into Agent’s chest when Zola’s hand stopped him. 

“Baron,” Zola said softly. “I still have use for this specimen.” 

Zemo growled, low and bestial.

“And,” Zola continued, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. Agent felt his stomach drop. “I thought that giving him to Johann Fennhoff for retraining might be a good investment for HYDRA.”

Zemo slowly sheathed the sword. “Dr. Fennhoff? Very well. But if he resists training then I want him destroyed.” Zemo stormed away, making the scientists scramble to get out of his way. 

Zola beamed down at Agent. “Truly a most interesting life, my specimen. Iron Man, the flying Asgardian named Thor, the alien commander which attacked Manhattan a few months ago, and _Captain America_.” He chuckled. “No wonder you had so many guards protecting your comatose body.”

Zola raised his hands and his scientists moved, unbuckling straps and removing the wire-helmet. 

“Take Chimera back to his cell,” Zola ordered the guards which had been waiting patiently. “I won‘t be needing him… at least until tomorrow.”


End file.
